


Girl-Drink Drunk

by Euroshrimp



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Sharing a Bed, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 23:18:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8179495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euroshrimp/pseuds/Euroshrimp
Summary: A party at the Barns results in Adam getting a little too tipsy, so Ronan helps him out.  Bed sharing ensues, followed by all that that entails.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from a line in the Supernatural episode "Wishful Thinking"
> 
> This is my first fic! My apologies for any formatting issues, and all mistakes are my own.

A party at the Barns had sounded like a great idea…a chance for everyone to unwind, indulge in a little underage drinking, and maybe blow stuff up when the whiskey kicked in. The house at the Barns was decidedly better appointed than Monmouth and, though Ronan would never admit this out loud, being home let him relax into his own skin in a way he didn’t experience anywhere else; not to mention, the sense of sovereignty he got by being on his own turf.

The evening whirled by in a blur of drinks (thanks to the mixology skills of Blue), academic monologues (thanks to a boozed up Gansey), and rude fireworks that spelled out things like “fuck face,” “maggot,” (Blue was touched) and “boobs,” at which point all eyes turned to Ronan, eyebrows lifted and mouths quirked in derision.

“Hey, I don’t know what you breeders are into,” barked Ronan, a scowl on his face that said _if you don’t like it, then you can manifest magical fireworks from the dreamscape in your OWN damn mind next time._

Gansey cleared his throat signaling an end to the topic, and Blue filled the awkward silence with, “So, who wants a blow job shot?” at which point Noah raised his hand and Ronan aimed the next firework at him.

The truth was, the fact of Ronan’s sexuality had become common knowledge. No one could identify when precisely this had occurred, but it was an accepted fact that somehow no one seemed entirely surprised by. In spite of this, Ronan’s thorny expressions made it clear that it was not, in fact, up for any kind of discussion.

 

By about 1:00 AM, the party had burned down to embers. Henry was passed out on the couch cradling an empty red solo cup and sporting an artful sharpie mustache, Blue and Gansey were curled up together in a recliner, both fast asleep, and Noah had once again given an Irish goodbye at least an hour ago.

This left Adam and Ronan at the kitchen table playing cards alone.

“Twenty-one!” yelled Adam, happily; a goofy grin spread across his face as he looked at his cards.

“We’re playing poker, dumbass,” growled Ronan, rolling his eyes, but without any of his usual venom…how could anyone get irritated at Adam when he smiled like _that_? Something inside Ronan tugged behind his heart as he looked at Adam’s ridiculously joyful expression.

“Ok, fuck face, you’re done,” said Ronan matter-of-factly, standing up and making a sweeping gesture in the general direction of the staircase.

Adam looked up at him, “But I’ve got twenty-one,” he repeated, looking both pouty and petulant, clearly not wanting to put down his cards.

Ronan’s head fell backwards as he rubbed his fingers across his brow and squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to eek out some patience for the poor drunk bastard. Adam had had a tough couple of months. Well, they all had, but Adam in particular; he’d earned a night of blowing off steam and no responsibilities…not to Cabeswater, to school, to the quest, or anyone else.

“Yup, you win,” Ronan finally said, using the best _coax the drunk person_ voice he could muster, “game over.”

Adam slapped the cards down on the table and looked up at Ronan with a satisfied smirk, “damn right, I win,” and Ronan was once again on the receiving end of Adam’s incandescent smile…enhanced in the moment by his alcohol-reddened cheeks and carelessly floppy hair.

“Idiot,” Ronan muttered to himself, smiling briefly.

It was in that moment that Ronan realized he was gazing openly at Adam, and Adam was gazing openly back, albeit swaying slightly where he still sat at the table.

Ronan cleared his throat and gave his head a quick shake, effectively ripping himself out of the moment (was it a moment?). He glanced back at Adam who was still grinning and swaying, seemingly oblivious and now cheerfully humming to himself.

“Ok,” Ronan said, back in control, “it’s now or never. Time for bed. If you pass out at that table I’m leaving you there. No way I’m dragging your drunk ass upstairs.” But Ronan knew that wasn’t true. He would carry Adam up _fifty_ flights of stairs if he needed to. The idea of Adam left draped over a table like party detritus, like garbage, like he didn’t matter, sparked anger in Ronan. No. Adam was important; a distinct exception to every rule, and Ronan would always protect him.

Adam frowned, and reluctantly got to his feat, reaching out a hand to steady himself on the table. As he took a few breaths and braced himself, it seemed to dawn on him that perhaps Ronan was right. 

“M’kay. I think maybe that’s a good idea,” Adam slurred, scratching his side and pulling his t-shirt up in the process to expose bare tanned skin over his low-slung jeans.

Ronan’s hands flew up to cover his face, a pained expression spreading across his features.

“You’re killin’ me, Parrish,” Ronan rumbled under his breath. And then a bit louder to Adam, “alright, come on, you girl-drink drunk.”

“Hey, screw you,” said Adam, now bracing himself with both hands on the table. “Just ‘cuz I like cherries in my drinks doesn’t mean they’re _girl drinks_.”

“Whatever you say, Shirley Temple,” Ronan smirked, reaching out a hand.

Adam glared at Ronan with one eye shut, presumably to remedy his double vision, but he eventually, reluctantly, reached for the proffered hand, “The only reason I’m letting _that_ stand is because _I _can’t stand and I need your help, but I’d like to put my protest on the record.”__

“So noted,” said Ronan, smiling in spite of himself, and beginning the not-so-awful task of herding a stumbling Adam, and all of his flailing limbs, upstairs.

Once they arrived safely at the top of the staircase, Ronan began to steer Adam to the left, towards Declan’s room, but Adam, in a surprising surge of coordination, slipped through Ronan’s hands and veered to the right towards Ronan’s room, ping-ponging along the hallway on his own.

“Hey, shit head! Where do you think you’re going?” Ronan called after Adam, his hands splayed out to either side in a pleading gesture.

“This way!” called Adam over his shoulder, most unhelpfully.

Ronan’s head fell forward shaking back and forth, his hands on his hips now, “Ah, fuck,” he muttered to himself.

In the few moments it took Ronan to walk to his room, Adam had managed to get himself into a wrestling match with his t-shirt; arms and shirt over his head, tangled up in a complicated twist. Ronan decided to take pity on him.

“C’mere, idiot,” Ronan huffed as he untangled Adam’s arms and pulled off the t-shirt in one smooth movement.

It was then that Ronan realized Adam was further along in this process than he’d initially thought; Adam’s jeans were thrown haphazardly into a corner with his shoes stuck inside them, which meant that Adam was now standing in nothing but his boxer briefs and floppy socks, looking at Ronan with sleepy affection.

“Thanks. Shirts are hard sometimes.”

Ronan just nodded, unsure how to talk to a nearly naked Adam, and not certain where to look; it felt like his entire field of vision was bursting with Adam’s toned, tanned, skin.

Ronan felt himself blush. In an effort to stop looking, and to do something with his hands, which had suddenly started to feel very conspicuous and awkward, Ronan turned towards the bed and pulled the comforter and sheets back.

“Ok, hop in,” said Ronan, inclining his head towards Adam, but refusing to turn towards him completely.

“But isn’t this your side?” asked Adam from behind him.

“What?” asked Ronan, now turning fully towards Adam with a quizzical look on his face.

“Is this your _side_ ” Adam repeated, “If it is, I can go over there. I don’t want to take your side.”

“It doesn’t matter, you dick. You swiped my room, so sleep on whichever fucking side you want.” Ronan flung the bedcovers down, finally exasperated by boys who couldn’t hold their liquor, and turned to head down the hall to Declan’s room.

As he passed Adam, he felt a hand on his wrist, “Stay,” Adam said quietly.

It was only a couple of fingers worth of pressure, but it might as well have been a wrecking ball. An explosion went off inside of Ronan at the possible implication, and he hated himself for even going there in his head. Adam was drunk; he didn’t know what he was saying. Maybe he just felt bad for taking Ronan’s room, and his sideways logic figured this was the solution. Yeah, that was probably it.

Ronan took a deep breath to still his jackhammering heart and turned to look at Adam, “Seriously, don’t worry about it. I don’t mind sleeping in Declan’s room, it’s fine.”

Adam still had his hand on Ronan’s wrist, and he was now looking down at where he was touching the other boy. Ronan couldn’t help but notice how exposed Adam seemed then; practically naked, inebriated, and with a confused look on his face that gave the impression of profound vulnerability, like Adam was having a private moment of truth inside of himself and Ronan could do nothing but watch.

“I know,” Adam said eventually, “I just want you to stay. Is that ok?” At this, Adam looked up at Ronan, the same open expression, colored only by a trace of fear…fear, Ronan realized, that he would be told no.

Ronan felt his bones disappear…he was flattened by Adam’s expression. How the fuck could he ever say no?

“Ok,” Ronan said finally, gently pulling his arm away from Adam. “But don’t get all handsy, and shit,” he added with a smirk.

This seemed to break the spell, thank god, and Adam barked out a laugh as he dove onto the bed like a five-year-old. Ronan rolled his eyes, but smiled after him, shaking his head at himself now…holy shit.

\---

Once Adam was safely ensconced in the covers, Ronan headed to the bathroom to grab a glass of water and some Advil. He placed both on the bedside table next to Adam.

“Trust me, you’ll need these in the morning, Parrish.”

Adam just gazed up at him from a sea of bedding, goofy smile on his face. Ronan had no idea if Adam had heard him or not, and all indications pointed to Adam having slipped back into blissful inebriation after the shockingly earnest moment of a few minutes ago.

Ronan began to walk towards the bedroom door, when Adam called out, “Hey, where are you going?”

Ronan turned on him, exasperated look on his face, “I’m just turning off the light. Damn, Parrish, I didn’t realize you were so needy.” But as Ronan headed back in the direction of the light switch, he allowed himself a smile, and a moment of butterflies in his stomach.

“ _You’re_ needy,” came Adam’s weak reply from somewhere in the sea of blankets.

“Snappy comeback. Now, go to sleep.”

With the lights off, Ronan headed back toward the bed, the soft glow of the moon filtering through the sheer curtains and years of living there were all he needed to navigate in the dark.

He kicked off his boots, and stuffed his socks into their necks, and then paused with his hands on the waist of his jeans. After a moment of hesitation, he whispered, “fuck it,” to himself, and swiped them down his legs. It wasn’t weird for a guy to sleep in his underwear. Hell, if he had been sleeping alone, he’d have been naked. He could hear Adam breathing now, slow and even…already passed out. No need to get precious about his sleeping attire.

As he reached behind his neck to pull his tank top off, it occurred to Ronan that he _could_ slip away down the hall to Declan’s room. Adam was passed out and probably wouldn’t remember asking him to stay anyway. And even though it was Adam’s idea, Ronan couldn’t deny that he _wanted_ this, and that was precisely why it probably shouldn’t happen. He’d never want to do anything to hurt Adam, and this situation felt like it was flirting with something inappropriate, like maybe he was taking advantage.

Lost in his private moral dilemma, Ronan didn’t notice that Adam had lifted himself up onto one of his elbows, definitely not passed out, “Hey! Why are you just standing there? It’s creepy.”

And with a very conscious Adam now pulling the covers back on Ronan’s side of the bed, the moral dilemma evaporated and Ronan gave in. He whipped his tank top off, tossing it onto the pile of boots and jeans, and flopped unceremoniously into the bed.

“Creepy,” Adam muttered to himself, before rolling over onto his stomach to the right of Ronan, his arms tucked under his pillow.

Ronan couldn’t ever remember being less relaxed.

It occurred to him that he had jerked off in this very bed with thoughts of Adam in various states of undress rolling around in his head… imagining his mouth on Adam’s neck, sucking on Adam’s fingers, licking the crease where Adam’s legs meet his pelvis…oh no. No, no, no…Ronan couldn’t get hard! Not now! It felt so disrespectful, so rude, so…and then Adam sighed in his sleep; a soft and needy sound that spoke directly to Ronan’s dick, and he was _done _for. Accident or not, it was an unreasonable expectation for anyone to think that Ronan Lynch could keep his junk in a G-rated position with a nearly-nude Adam making X-rated sounds barely two feet away.__

Adam moaned again, his body shifting around this time and, holy shit, did he just rut down into the mattress?

Ronan was sweating now, and he was painfully hard. He turned his back to Adam to lie on his side, facing away from the tousled, moaning, nearly naked spectacle next to him.

Thankfully, Adam quieted again, and seemed to go still. Deep breaths could be heard over Ronan’s shoulder, and his heart rate slowed infinitesimally. Ronan then eased his hand over his own taut stomach, into his boxer briefs, and down to his aching cock. He was so hard. There was no way he could convince himself it was ok to jerk off with Adam _next to him_ in the bed, but he needed to ease the tension just a bit; just to take the edge off.

Ronan squeezed himself. Holy fuck, it felt so good, he had to choke back a groan, but he definitely needed this. He breathed a few times…in the nose, out the mouth, meditative breathing to help calm him the fuck down. A few moments later, Ronan squeezed himself again, and this time he couldn’t help it… a keening sound escaped his throat before he could stop himself, and Ronan froze, alert for any indication that he had woken Adam. It was silent. Ronan could hear a clock in the hallway ticking off the seconds…two, three, four…he allowed himself to relax ever so slightly, attention back on his now leaking erection, and then it happened again. Adam breathed out the dirtiest sound Ronan had ever heard right as Ronan squeezed himself for the third time, and that was all it took; he was cuming all over his own hand. Too overwhelmed to have any other thoughts in his brain, Ronan stroked himself through his orgasm as he bit back the moan trying to escape his throat; his body twitching and jerking on the bed.

When he finally came down, Ronan felt the stickiness on himself, and a wave of shame washed over him. He curled into himself, cursing and mortified at his own weakness.

After a few moments of silence, Ronan slowly eased out of bed and headed to clean himself up. He glanced sideways at Adam who seemed to be blessedly unaware, and hurried to the bathroom where he washed his hands and used a damp cloth to wipe his stomach and underwear.

He’d left the light off, but the moon was high and filtered through a skylight above him. Ronan placed his hands on either side of the sink and glared at his reflection. He was disgusted with himself. What if Adam had heard him? What if Adam had woken up? This could have ruined his friendship with one of the few fucking people in this world that he cared about. Even if Ronan couldn’t have Adam in his life like he wanted to, he would take what he could get, because it was Adam. Beautiful, sunlit Adam. Ronan sighed mournfully.

After one last huff and glare at himself in the mirror, Ronan headed back out into the room. As he walked back around to his own side of the bed, he couldn’t help but notice that, in his sleep, Adam seemed to have scooted ever so slightly towards the center of the bed. Great.

At this point, though, Ronan wasn’t terribly worried. The worst-case scenario had _literally _just happened, and with his epic release and the blanket of shame that was now smothering him, he was in no danger of another immediate erection. He quietly got back into bed and lay on his left side, hugging the edge of the mattress with his back to Adam. He needed to get some sleep, and with no additional noises from his bedmate, Ronan was able to eventually drift off.__


	2. Chapter 2

A few hours later, Ronan wakes to a still dark room, but he can see the dawn sneaking in at the corners of the windows. The events of last night come flooding back to him…the party, the card game, drunk Adam, touching himself, cumming in the bed. The shame comes back en force, as well as a twisting feeling in Roman’s stomach that he’s mortified to realize is desire.

Ronan lays unmoving on his side, lost in his thoughts and still hugging the edge of the mattress, when he feels Adam roll over behind him. The bed dips and creaks softly as Adam sleepily readjusts himself, and then stills. Ronan knows Adam is now facing him; the big spoon to Ronan’s “little” spoon, even though they aren’t actually touching. He can feel the faint breeze of Adam’s breath ghosting over his bare back as Adam exhales through his open mouth, peacefully unconscious and unaware of the riot he is causing in Ronan’s heart…again. Ronan realizes he has been holding his breath, and exhales in a whoosh, eyes wide and painfully awake. The skin on his back is crackling with electricity as every cell in his body yearns to be touched by the boy that is so very close right now.

Ronan’s thoughts are interrupted as he hears Adam yawn behind him, followed by the wet smacking sound of Adam opening and closing his mouth as sleep slowly releases its hold. There is a rustling of sheets (oh so close) and Ronan finds himself paralyzed…pleading with the universe while simultaneously begging it to ignore him…and then Ronan gets his answer: fingertips on his back. Ronan’s brain short-circuits and he holds his breath as it dawns on him that Adam is tracing the lines of his tattoo. _Adam_. The person he most longs for is tracing the lines of the inked representation of Ronan himself, the thing that feels most true about him and identifies him to the world. It feels profoundly personal in the pre-dawn quiet, and more erotic than Ronan could have ever guessed.

Ronan struggles to keep his breathing even as Adam runs his fingers over wings and beaks, vines and Celtic knots, not daring to move lest he break the spell that is this magic. He feels Adam’s fingers trailing over his neck, his shoulder blades, his spine, exploring the longitude and latitude of his body as though he’s discovering a new world. He continues his ministrations down, down, until he arrives at Ronan’s low back, skirting the edge of his underwear…ever so slightly going underneath the waistband and then tracing the elastic equator around Ronan’s side to where his hipbone lays exposed. Ronan can’t hide a shiver that runs through his body and Adam’s hand stops.

“Is this ok?” Adam whispers, hand frozen over Ronan’s hip.

But Ronan has now lost all powers of speech. He feels his heart stutter and can only manage a nod as rivulets of electricity spread through his body from the epicenter that is Adam’s hand on him, waking every nerve and cell.

Adam continues, letting his fingers trail unabashedly over the surging topography of Ronan’s taut abdomen, up towards his chest, and gently over his nipple, drawing a sound from Ronan, part moan, part sigh.

“You like that?” Adam asks quietly, and Ronan is floored. Where is this coming from? Since when is Adam a grabby Cassanova? Since when is Adam into boys? Since when is Adam into Ronan?

But all Ronan can manage is a choked out, “Mmm hmmm.”

Emboldened, Adam begins to trail his hand back down Ronan’s chest, no longer just using his fingertips, splaying his hand out and touching, studying the hard planes of Ronan’s core. 

“Roll onto your back,” Adam murmurs, and Ronan is helpless, Adam’s words like puppet strings guiding his body and bending it to his will with whispers.

Obediently, Ronan rolls to his back, eyes closed tight, not sure he can handle any more input from his senses…already overwhelmed by the electricity of Adam’s touch and the raspy sound of his voice, the idea of _watching_ Adam touch him is too much; surely he would pass out, combust, _something_.

Adam’s body is now pressed against Ronan’s right side, his hand ghosting over Ronan’s neck, his clavicle. 

“I’ve wanted to touch you like this for so long,” Adam says, and Ronan’s eyes finally fly open. His hand moves to cover Adam’s on his chest, stopping his distracting fingers, and he turns to look at the sleep-rumpled boy next to him, a mischievous grin painted across Adam’s face.

“Wait, _what_?” and Adam’s smile slides away as he looks at Ronan’s face; all bravado stripped away. No pretense, no thorns, Ronan’s chiseled features somehow softer as though all of his sharp edges had been rounded off. Just a boy laid open, his chest flayed and heart exposed; blue eyes wide and painted in hope, and Adam kisses him, letting his actions speak the language of his heart in ways that words would never be capable.

It’s a chaste kiss, but Ronan’s lips are able to translate:  
_I choose you. You are loved._

And when they finally pull apart, Ronan knows he is grinning like a fool, but he can’t find it in himself to care. Adam loves him. And Ronan _knows_ it’s love. Not _like_ , not _lust_ , but _love_. Love like a comet, like a forest fire, like the creation of a universe in the mingling of their breath.

“Wow,” says Adam, thunderstruck and breathless.

“Fuck,” says Ronan, his hand fisted in Adam’s soft hair at the base of his neck.

The boys lean back from one another, both reeling as this new truth washes over them.

“I didn’t know,” Ronan says.

“Because you’re an idiot,” replies Adam with an indulgent smile on his still sleepy face, leaning back towards Ronan and placing his hand on the side of Ronan’s neck, his thumb brushing the line of the other boy’s jaw affectionatly.

“Why now?” Ronan asks.

“I don’t know,” says Adam, his gaze sliding off into the distance as he contemplates the question. “I had this dream about you last night, and when I woke up I just didn’t have it in me to not touch you anymore.”

Ronan takes Adam’s face in both of his hands, “I’ve wanted this…you…for so long, I don’t even have the words,” but realization begins to bloom on Ronan’s face, “Wait, you had a _dream_ last night?” he replies, a smug grin slipping over his features, “Uh, yeah, I think I heard,” the raw intimacy of moments ago lost to playful derision.

Adam’s ears turn red, “Oh god, was I talking in my sleep?”

Ronan pretends to think about this, “Well, it wasn’t exactly _talking_ …” he trails off giving Adam a meaningful look from under his brow.

As the humiliating realization dawns on Adam, he _groans_ and hides his face with his hands.

“Yeah, kinda like that, Parrish.”

“Oh my god, murder me,” Adam whines, covering his head with the blankets.

“Not a chance. I want to hear about all of the dirty things I was doing to you. If you remember, I kind of have a thing for making dreams into reality.”

Adam peaks out from under the comforter, “Don’t fuck with me, Ronan.”

“I’m confused. I thought that was _exactly_ what you wanted me to do,” says Ronan with a smirk, scooting closer to Adam’s blanket cocoon and placing his hand in the general vicinity of what seems to be Adam’s waist.

Adam lets himself smile at this and pulls the blankets down, exposing his chest. “Ok, tough guy, what were _you_ doing while I was unconscious, and having a dream that is completely not my fault, I might add.”

Ronan gets still, the sick edges of his shame returning unbidden and coloring his pale Irish cheeks. Even knowing what he knows now doesn’t excuse what happened.

“I…,” Ronan trails off, suddenly feeling conspicuous and guilty.

“Oh my god, you _liked_ it, didn’t you,” Adam replies, straightening up to balance on one elbow as he turns onto his side to fully face Ronan. He’s smiling at Ronan, but the other boy is looking away, something more than simple embarrassment clearly weighing on him.

“Hey,” Adam says, a crease forming between his eyebrows as he reaches a hand out to Ronan’s cheek, turning his face so he can look him in the eye. “It’s ok. It’s pretty hot, actually,” the corners of Adam’s mouth turn up as he correctly deduces what happened. 

Ronan looks at him disbelieving, and Adam is overcome by the desire to sweep away the doubt that has settled over Ronan’s beautiful face. He leans in and kisses Ronan gently on the lips and, keeping his hand on Ronan’s cheek, puts their foreheads together, “I mean it,” Adam says sweetly, then in a slightly lower tone, “I wanna tell you about my dream. I want you to touch yourself, and I wanna watch.”

“Jesus, fuck,” Ronan breathes, his hand atop Adam’s on his cheek, his eyes closed tight as he lets Adam’s words wash over his body like a swarm of butterflies, making him squirm as his muscles involuntarily constrict.

Adam smiles and begins to reposition himself, snaking his arm behind Ronan’s neck so that the other boy is laying on his back with his head resting on Adam’s shoulder, Adam’s own head inclined with his cheek against the soft fuzz atop Ronan’s head.

“Story time,” whispers Adam, as he gently pulls the blanket down Ronan’s body, exposing him from shoulder to knee.

Ronan rubs his sweating palms up and down his thighs over his boxer briefs, speechless again, knowing Adam can see that he is already semi-hard. He pushes a forceful breath out of his mouth as he attempts to get a hold of himself, but he can feel Adam smile against his head and knows the other boy is relishing how he is coming undone.

“In my dream,” Adam begins, whispering softly into Ronan’s ear, “I was in Cabeswater, moving rocks and stuff to clear the line. I walked around this big tree and there you were. You were lying in a clearing, barefoot in the grass on your back with your head resting in your hands. You looked peaceful, and I don’t know why, but I stayed hidden and just watched you,” Adam brings his free hand up to Ronan’s neck and begins running his fingers over the soft skin there, down to Ronan’s shoulder and back. Ronan shivers, palms pressed into his thighs, his eyes closed, listening intently.

Adam continues, “While I was watching you, you started to rub your thigh, and I could hear you beginning to breathe a little deeper. Then you started to unbutton your jeans and I watched as you pulled out your cock. Oh my god, you were so beautiful and hard.”

The Ronan currently in Adam’s arms begins to breathe more deeply, the fabric of his underwear straining under his quickly growing erection, his hands now grasping fistfuls of the sheets beside him.

“Once you pulled yourself out, you started touching yourself…slowly at first, but damn, the noises you were making,” Adam groans softly as he remembers, making Ronan huff, then Adam allows his free hand to snake over Ronan’s shoulder, down his arm, to where Ronan is clenching the sheet. Adam gently pries his fist away and moves Ronan’s hand to his now-straining erection, “Touch yourself, baby,” Adam whispers against Ronan’s ear.

Ronan lets out a whine and squeezes himself through his underwear. He hears Adam breathe out, “Yeah.” Ronan’s lips part as he lets himself succumb to the sound of Adam’s voice and begins stroking himself through the fabric.

“Then,” Adam goes on, “you licked your palm and started to stroke faster.”

At this, Ronan pulls down the elastic of his waistband, exposing his cock to the cool air of the room, but before he can begin touching himself again, he feels Adam grab his wrist and pull his hand up to his mouth. Ronan licks himself, and then Adam pulls Ronan’s hand to his own mouth, licking a wet stripe on top of Ronan’s already slick palm before guiding Ronan’s hand back to his waiting erection.

Ronan begins to stroke himself in earnest now, desire eclipsing embarrassment, up and down, twisting his wrist as his fingers slide over his leaking tip, pre-cum mingling with their saliva, making wet sticky sounds that add to the symphony of breathy sighs and needy moans now filling the room.

“Then,” Adam proceeds softly, “you looked right at me where I was hiding behind the tree, like you knew I was there the whole time; like you were putting on a show for me. You reached your hand out and I went to you.”

“Mhmm,” Ronan gives a faint nod, continuing to jerk his fist.

“And even though I’d never done it before, I kneelt beside you, bent over, and sucked your dick into my mouth.”

“Ungh, fuck,” Ronan was writhing now. “Adam…”

Adam is hypnotized. Ronan’s body, Ronan’s groans, Ronan’s hand on himself. Adam is harder than he could ever remember being, watching this American god come unraveled in his arms. Had he ever imagined anything more vulgar or divine.

“Adam,” Ronan said again more insistent, “do it. I want to feel your mouth.”

The words snap Adam back to himself, and he looks down at Ronan to see his face turned toward him, eyes pleading, but Adam is too far-gone to deny Ronan _anything_. He pulls his arm out from under Ronan’s neck and moves toward his legs, sliding Ronan’s boxer briefs all the way down and off. He roughly spreads Ronan’s legs and settles between them, running his hands up the other boy’s thighs and then glances up to look at him; the Vitruvian Man made flesh and blood, flawless, spread-eagle and panting. Adam feels wild, ravenous. Ronan is watching him, his mouth open in shock and desire. He nods once. 

The right side of Adam’s mouth pulls up in a half grin and he licks his lips, turning his attention to Ronan’s swollen dick. Adam wraps his hand around the base, extracting a needy sound from Ronan’s throat, then leans down and experimentally licks the tip, feeling Ronan’s slit part ever so slightly under the pressure. The taste of pre-cum ignites a primitive hunger inside him, and without another thought given to technique or decorum, Adam sucks down onto Ronan like a man gasping for oxygen, filling his mouth. 

Above him, Ronan growls, his hand flying to the back of Adam’s head where he unconsciously helps guide his rhythm, an innate animal instinct urging him to thrust his hips, tempered only by his desire to keep Adam unharmed.

Too soon, Adam pulls himself off of Ronan with a wet _pop_ , but before Ronan can complain, Adam is crawling up his body to lie on top of him. Their mouths smash together like tectonic plates, the resulting earthquake shaking both boys to their cores. Nothing exists but tongues, and teeth, and lips, and sighs. Neither can understand why they’ve waited so long to do this; it feels like truth, like inevitability, like home.

“Take these off,” Ronan grumbles between kisses, irritated that Adam still has his boxers on. Adam obliges, tossing his underwear blindly off the side of the bed, hands back on Ronan’s body as fast as he can get them, scrabbling to pull him closer.

“Hold on,” Ronan says, pushing Adam off of him and lunging at the bedside table. Adam continues to slide his hands over Ronan’s back as the other boy reaches, unwilling to spend even a moment of this stolen morning away from the hard lines and soft skin of Ronan’s body.

Moments later, Ronan turns around with his prize: lube. His smile is wicked.

“Your turn,” Ronan’s eyebrows waggle, “Lay on your back.”

Adam does as he’s told, “You going to tell me one of _your_ dreams, Ronan Lynch?”

“Fuck no. I’m gonna jerk you off until you cum all over my hand.”

Adam inhales sharply, his body ridged with anticipation. Ronan, the Greywaren, the beautiful and terrible boy Adam has been dreaming about but never thought he could deserve was going to, “Ungh,” Adam’s thoughts are interrupted by Ronan’s silky slick hand wrapping around him, wasting no time with teasing, jerking Adam rough and dirty.

Ronan is lying parallel to Adam; up on his side, braced on one elbow, stroking Adam with his other hand. He wants to be able to see Adam’s face, see how each slide of his hand brings him closer to release. So intent is Ronan on Adam’s pleasure, however, that he has to swallow a shout of surprise when he feels Adam’s hand on his own neglected cock, and suddenly they’re in sync, jerking each other with firm strokes, each held transfixed in the other’s gaze.

“Ronan, shit, I think I’m gonna…”

“Cum for me, baby,” Ronan’s tone is reverent and urgent.

Adam starts to see inky blackness in his periphery, the intensity of sensation pulling him towards unconsciousness, and then he cums…his body jerking with wave after wave of pleasure as he spurts again and again over Ronan’s hand and his own stomach. Ronan milks him through it, mouth agape as he uses every ounce of self-control to hold himself back, wanting this moment to be only for Adam’s pleasure.

In his final throws, Adam reaches up to Ronan’s face and pulls him down into a deep kiss, thanking, and claiming, and baptizing his mouth.

When they finally pull away, chests heaving, Ronan is prepared to let Adam rest, but before he can begin to settle in next to him, Adam is on top of him again.

“How do you want me to finish you?” Adam’s expression is all heat and earnestness.

“Jesus,” Ronan groans, but as an exclamation or a plea, Adam is unsure.

“With my hand,” Adam continues, licking the curve of Ronan’s ear, “or my mouth,” Ronan whimpers as Adam nips at his jaw, “or…I have a better idea.”

And Ronan can only watch him, staggered by Adam’s audacity, as he picks up the lube where it had disappeared into the sheets and rubs a generous amount on Ronan’s now aching cock. Ronan is speechless as Adam then straddles him, pulling Ronan’s hands onto his hips, and begins grinding his pelvis in an excruciating rhythm. Adam leans down over Ronan, bracing himself with his elbows on either side of Ronan’s head, “Now it’s your turn to cum,” Adam whispers against his ear.

Ronan grips Adam’s hips tighter as he urges the other boy to move faster. He can feel Adam’s cock starting to get hard again, responding to the friction and rubbing alongside his own, and he knows he can’t hold on much longer.

Adam senses that Ronan is close and redoubles his pace, rutting shamelessly against Ronan’s rigid length. No longer able to kiss, they breathe roughly into each other’s mouths, and without considering the wisdom or repercussions, Adam whispers hotly, “I love you, Ronan Lynch.”

And Ronan snaps, biting into Adam’s shoulder and cuming harder than he knew a person could cum, arms now wrapped tightly around Adam’s waist. Adam continues to rut against him, rubbing him through the tremors, wetness spreading warm and sticky between them as Ronan empties himself and time stands still.

As their breathing calms and begins to return to normal, the boys loosen their grips on one another, and Adam looks down at Ronan, the enormity of his confession heavy between them.

“I’ll grab a towel,” says Adam, extracting himself from Ronan’s loose embrace and hurrying to the bathroom. He allows himself a moment, washing his hands and wetting a towel to clean off the mixture of cum and lube. As he wipes himself down, running the cloth along his stomach, his thighs, he glances up at his reflection in the mirror, examining his face to see if he looks different. Does love leave a mark? Adam feels like he has performed a ritual, professing his love with his body, and then aloud to his beloved like casting a spell he can’t come back from but doesn’t yet know the consequences of.

He rinses the towel once more, ringing it out to take to Ronan, insecurity scratching at him now that the moment, and the adrenalin of it, has passed. As he walks back into the bedroom, his eyes find Ronan; still laying on his back, one arm slung over his face, a debauched saint in repose.

Adam crawls on to the bed next to him, sitting up on his heels as he begins to swipe the damp towel over Ronan’s hard stomach, his spent cock twitching at the pale vision beneath his hands. He glances up as Ronan removes his forearm from over his eyes.

“C’mere,” Ronan says, opening his arms in an invitation.

Adam places the damp towel on the bedside table and goes to him, laying his head on Ronan’s chest, his arm slung across Ronan’s body as Ronan’s arms wrap around him possessively. Ronan kisses the top of Adam’s head, squeezing his arms a little tighter, both boys relaxing into the comfort of this new familiarity, and both knowing that whatever the future holds, they have crossed an invisible line that they can not go back over.

Adam’s bad ear is over Ronan’s heart, but he can feel its steady beat as well as the rhythmic rise and fall of Ronan’s chest in time with his breath. There is an aura of peace surrounding the usually electric boy, and Adam allows this startling tranquility to seep into him, clipping the wings of the handful of butterflies that seem to have taken up a stubborn residence in his stomach.

Ronan moves his right hand to rest protectively on Adam’s head, occasionally smoothing his hair and bestowing careless kisses, just because he can. He can feel a slight restlessness in Adam, but thankfully Ronan is not stupid, so he can easily guess why. Ronan decides to put the boy out of his misery.

Lifting his head off of the pillow to get closer to Adam’s good ear, Ronan quietly says, “Es, eras, eris semper amor meus in aeternum.”

_You are, you were, you’ll always be, my love._

Adam lifts his head, bracing himself on Ronan’s chest, and searching the other boy’s face for any hint of mockery, for a lie, but he sees none. Ronan Lynch doesn’t lie.

And with words having said all that language is able to profess, their lips come together again, this time in a silent promise; both boys knowing that their bond is as real as gravity and as eternal as matter.

 

\--------

 

Hours later, the boys awaken from deep, dreamless sleep, the kind only experienced by lovers. Their bare limbs are tangled lazily, glowing with the mid-day sun that is now streaming through the windows. Adam stirs first, squinting at the light and lifting his head to survey the room and the evidence of their early morning deeds; clothes, shoes, cum rag, lube; good god, it looks like a porn set.

As he turns his head to look down at Ronan, Adam winces in pain, “Morning, Pumpkin,” Ronan says with a smirk, “bit of a headache?” he asks, his voice teasing.

“Mmmm,” Adam groans, flopping back onto a pillow.

“Bedside table,” Ronan replies, jerking his chin towards the water and Advil he had set out the night before.

Adam rolls on to his side, reaching out for the wondrous offering. He pops the pills and chugs three quarters of the water before setting the glass back down, and turning back around to snuggle into Ronan.

“I knew I loved you for a reason,” Adam says into Ronan’s neck, kissing him lightly on the throat.

Ronan thrills at hearing these words again, the light of day acting like a kiln to vitrify and assure their permanence. He cradles Adam’s head, bringing his lips to his ear, “I’m going to grab a shower and head down to face the masses,” he kisses Adam’s forehead, “Sleep.”

Adam grunts in acknowledgement, happy to drift back into oblivion and let the Advil do its magic. Ronan gets out of bed gently, passing all of the windows on the way to the bathroom to draw the curtains closed, shutting out the harsh light to help Adam rest.

He jumps into the shower, briefly regretting that the process will eliminate the smell of Adam on him, but knowing that he also smells like sex, which would make the impending conversation more awkward than strictly necessary. Ronan braces himself against the shower wall, leaning his head forward and letting the water run over his body, the heat soothing his muscles and washing away any remaining whispers of sleep.

He reaches for the body wash, squirting a generous amount onto a wash cloth and begins scrubbing his skin, flashes of the night before returning to him as he passes over each body part; Adam trailing fingers over his back, Adam kissing his neck, Adam running his hands up his thighs, Adam sucking on his…and Ronan can feel himself getting hard again, but having been freed from any shame, Ronan allows himself to linger on his growing cock, tugging himself to full attention.

Ronan places one hand on the shower wall to steady himself, closes his eyes, and lets the highlight reel of the previous night project on the insides of his eyelids, his hand sliding up and down as he remembers Adam’s whispered dirty dream, Adam crawling up his body, Adam cumming over Ronan’s hand. He finishes suddenly and powerfully, white ropes of cum hitting the shower wall as Ronan grunts harshly with pleasure. Jesus, if this is what Adam does to him, he’s going to have to dream up some kind of balm for chaffing.

Now clean and relaxed, Ronan quickly rinses, ensuring he washes off the shower wall, and steps into the steamy bathroom to grab a towel. He swipes a hand across the clouded mirror and makes eye contact with his reflection. He can’t help but grin at himself when it occurs to him that he’s not actually nervous to face the rest of the group downstairs. They have undoubtedly been able to put two and two together, especially if Noah is back with his spooky omnipotence, but _amor ardua vincit_ ; Love triumphs over difficulties.

After stealthily putting on clean clothes, being careful not to disturb a peacefully sleeping Adam, Ronan places a gentle kiss on the top of the slumbering boy’s head and quietly exits the room. As he softly closes the door behind himself and turns to head down the hallway, he is bombarded by the intoxicating smell of French toast and coffee. He makes a mental note to bring a tray up later for Adam if he isn’t up soon, then bounds down the stairs.

As he enters the kitchen, all conversation stops, and four pairs of eyes turn to him, each of his friends wearing a slightly different expression: Henry, tight and awkward; Gansey, thoughtful and subdued; Blue, mischievous and delighted; Noah, vaporous and guilty. Ronan raises an eyebrow.

Blue breaks the stalemate, pushing past Gansey, “Want French toast?” Ronan nods. “Lemme grab you a plate.”

As Blue busies herself placing a heap of steaming French toast onto a plate for Ronan, he walks further into the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee. The other three pairs of eyes continue to follow his movements, clearly not sure how to proceed.

Ronan feels no immediate need to make anyone feel more comfortable, choosing instead to lean against the counter and watch each of his friends in turn, occasionally sipping the hot black coffee and giving no indication that he plans on speaking any time soon.

Suddenly at his side, Blue thrusts a plate at him, an absurd amount of French toast piled on top, “Jesus, maggot, you trying to fatten me up for Christmas?”

“No,” Blue says, her eyes twinkling, “I just thought that after last night you might be _extra_ hungry.” Her mouth stretches into a wide smile, clearly finding herself very clever.

“Good point,” shrugs Ronan, carrying his plate to the table, “turns out Parrish can’t get enough of me.”

In his periphery, Ronan sees Henry’s mouth fall open, silently gaping at him, Blue and Noah high-five each other, and Gansey nods his approval, “I’m extremely happy for you both,” he says, employing his most formal tone.

“Fantastic,” Ronan replies sarcastically through a mouthful of French toast, “And Cheng, wash your face, dude, you look like the Purple fucking Pieman.”

Any remaining tension is blown out of the room as all eyes turn to Henry who, up to this moment, had been blissfully unaware of the sharpie mustache curling artfully across his face. Blue and Noah high-five again, falling over each other in hysterics, Gansey chuckles indulgently, and Ronan makes a mental note to keep a closer eye on the Blue/Noah duo…they were a dangerous pair.

Ronan is pulled out of his musings when, amidst all of the laughter, Adam shuffles into the kitchen, freshly showered, barefoot, damp floppy hair, “Anymore French toast?” he asks, hand rubbing over the back of his head.

“I gave the rest to your _boyfriend_ ,” Blue teases genially, “but I’m pretty sure he’ll share.”

Unembarrassed, Adam turns to Ronan with a smile, “Whataya say, boyfriend? Mind sharing?”

Ronan shakes his head, unable to hide his joy at the title he’s won, and slides his plate toward Adam.

Then softly, from across the kitchen, Gansey can be heard saying, almost to himself, “ _Amore didicimus vinci feros_.”

Blue raises a quizzical eyebrow and turns to Noah for explanation. The ghostly boy leans toward her, though his shining eyes never leave Ronan and Adam, “We have learned that wild beasts can be conquered by love.”

**Author's Note:**

> I relied on the internet for the Latin, so for you linguists out there, my apologies if it's not grammatically correct.
> 
> For those of you too young to know the Purple Pieman, of Strawberry Shortcake fame, it's probably worth a google...I attempted to include a photo, but as a noob I don't entirely know what I'm doing :)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed my first foray into fanfic! I'd love any feedback you're willing to give. Not sure if I plan writing anything else, but I had fun creating this.
> 
>  
> 
> Cheers!


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